


I Picked These for You

by redgoth



Series: 100 Ways To Say "I love you" [6]
Category: South Park
Genre: Agender Character, Agender Firkle, Flowers, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redgoth/pseuds/redgoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firkle hated the spring. Ike did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Picked These for You

**Author's Note:**

> 6\. "I picked these for you."

The Earth was coming to life before them. Reds and blues, greens and purples, nature had sprung forth full throttle in what seemed like only days.

Firkle really couldn’t care. They liked the brown of the dead leaves, the dead grass, dead everything. They liked the dreary colors and the feeling of death.

But Ike was another story. Ike loved the yellow flowers that grew between the cracks of the sidewalk, the dogwood flowers that were planted in his front yard, the daisies, the purple flowers that littered the hills. Every time the two walked home together, the smile on his face seemed far bigger in the spring than it did in the fall. He’d point out flowers like Firkle pointed out clouds, talking excitedly about poppies and blue columbines.

They were as different as night and day, Firkle still wasn’t exactly sure why Ike stuck around.

Firkle had been in the field near their house for about a half hour. Scissors in hand, occasionally sneezing and cursing. They swore they took their allergy medicine that morning. God, they hated the spring.

They had a fistful of flowers in their hand, mostly neatly sorted and kept looking decent. They might not like the flowers much, but Ike did.

After they had collected enough flowers for a decent bouquet, they skidded off to their own house, locking themself in their room to fix up an actual bouquet.

It didn’t take that long, with Firkle’s bit of artistic ability; they were able to finish up in a less than ten minutes. They pulled on their sweater and laced up their boots, before grabbing the bouquet and heading out the door.

Firkle didn’t live that far from the Broflovski’s home. This was why the two fifteen year olds walked home together regularly, it was on the way. Firkle stopped in the front yard, one hand stuffed into their pocket. They just stood there for a short while, thinking over what to say, before letting out a little groan and going up and knocking on the door.

Sheila was the one to answer the door. She raised an eyebrow at the short goth.

“Oh, hello, Firkle.” She said calmly.

When Firkle had first started hanging around with Ike, Sheila hadn’t been too thrilled. They couldn’t really blame her; they were known for playing with dead animal carcasses and setting things on fire. But after a while, she became less protective over her youngest son. She had noticed the change that had taken place in both Firkle and her son.

She still wasn’t too happy that Firkle liked to stay over from time to time.

“Is Ike here?” They asked, shifting awkwardly under the woman’s heavy gaze.

Sheila paused, sighing and stepping away from the door. “He’s in his room, doing homework, I believe.” She allowed them entrance, and Firkle stepped inside, barely managing a ‘thank you’ before darting up the stairs to Ike’s room.

They stopped before the Canadian’s door, then knocked three times. It took a moment to gain a response.

“It’s open!” Ike called, and Firkle pushed the door open.

It certainly _looked_ like he was doing homework. He had a book open on his desk, multiple pages of notebook paper, all written or doodled on, were all spread around on the desk, the floor, even the dresser.

“What the hell are you doing?” Firkle asked as they shut the door.

Ike poked his head up. His glasses were askew and his headphones hung around his neck. He grinned brightly. “I’m gunna make a rocket.”

“Of course you are.” Firkle snickered and walked over to Ike’s bed, setting the bouquet down on the nightstand and moving a pile of clothes and papers before flopping down onto the bed.

“It’s for the science fair,” Ike said as he turned back to his notes. “Dad wanted to help me make a volcano, but, I don’t think that’s… really a great idea.”

“I swear to god, if you ever make a stupid volcano, I’m going to kick your ass.” Firkle sighed. Ike snickered.

“Rockets are far cooler.” He turned himself around in the chair, looking at the kid lounging on his bed. His eyes drifted to the arrangement of blues, whites, and yellows, all wrapped up in black paper, sitting on his nightstand. “What’s that?”

Firkle sat up, looking at Ike and then at the bouquet. “Oh.” They mumbled, leaning forward and picking it up. “It’s… I picked these for you.” They stuck their arm out, holding the bouquet out to him.

“For me?”

They sat there for a moment, both quiet, Ike focused on the bouquet, Firkle focused on Ike.

“So… are you going to take them or do I have to just sit here with my arm out…?”

Ike squeaked slightly and rolled the chair closer, grabbing the flowers before scooting backwards.

“I-, um, you’re always really, uh, happy, pointing out the flowers, when we walk home. So, I thought-” This was stupid. They were stupid. Frick.

“Thank you.” Ike cut them off. He was good at figuring out when it was acceptable to do that. He had a bright smile on his face. “I love them, dude.”

Firkle could feel the back of their neck heating up, and they pulled at the collar of their sweater. “It’s nothing.” They mumbled.

“Do I really talk about the flowers that much?” Ike was still grinning as he turned his chair around. “Oh, don’t you have allergies? Wouldn’t this, like, make it worse? This is really pretty.” He was starting to talk a mile a minute, looking over each flower and every petal. “Where did you find these?”

“Oh my god,” Firkle squeezed their eyes shut, flopping back on the bed, “calm down. Stop asking so many questions all at once.”

Ike laughed softly. “I’m sorry.” He sounded very far from sorry. Sorry was the last word Firkle would use to describe Ike at that very moment.

“You talk about flowers a lot.” Firkle sighed. “Like, as soon as something starts blooming, you’re all over it, like, ‘holy s, look at these bluebells.’”

The smile on Ike’s face was contagious. A shy smile was presenting itself on Firkle’s pale face.

“Thank you, Firkle.” Ike said warmly.

Maybe spring wasn’t that bad.


End file.
